Beyond My Control
by backinthebox
Summary: She was in love with this girl. Which was why she had a hole being burned in her pocket. Sequel  kind of  to Irony Number Three.


A/N: Future!Fic, and a sequel (of sorts) to Irony Number Three.  
>Disclaimer: All characters that sound familiar belong to Glee and its owners, I'm borrowing them only for the purpose of this fan fiction, and no infringement is intended. This story is written only for fun, please don't sue. Original characters and names, however, are mine: any similarities to people or establishments fictional or otherwise are purely coincidental and not intended.<br>No aspect of this story may be reproduced or used elsewhere without the expressed prior written consent of the author.  
>There's a blink-and-miss-it reference to FerryBerry's story <span>The Naming of Faberry<span>. And lyrics used are from a 98 Degrees song.

As usual, unbeta'd. I apologize beforehand for the grammatical and spelling (and general writing) errors.

* * *

><p>If asked, she couldn't say for certain what kind of night she was having.<p>

Truly, there should be a fucking manual for this kind of thing.

Santana Lopez was thrilled to have the night off, and not have to worry about a deposition or anything work-related for the night. That she got to go out on a date with Brittany Pierce? Well, that just made her night _perfect_.

Except for one thing.

Brittany glanced up from her meal, and whatever she saw made her look at Santana with concern. "Are you OK?"

She was _excellent_. Taking a deep breath and hoping her emotions weren't so obvious, Santana grit out, "I'm fine."

"Are you lying?"

Well, she wasn't. Not really. Because she _was _thrilled to be out and about, having dinner with Brittany in a restaurant that was popular and fairly romantic... and one she can barely afford on her law associate paycheck, but she'd been saving up for this night for ages. And, well, it really paid off to be Broadway star Rachel Berry's best friend, because service has been fan-fucking-tastic.

But there was a hole burning in her pocket, and although she and Brittany have been having fun the whole night, the mood and the atmosphere they were in just weren't the right conditions to do what she wanted.

Especially since technically, she and Brittany were on one of their "off" moments, because a few months back, Santana had made the mistake of thinking she was taking the stress of her work out on the choreographer and dancer, so she'd suggested a break.

Yes, having a soul sucked, and in return she retaliated against the reason she was so in tune with her emotions and borderline considerate of other people's feelings.

Yes, it was a pity she could no longer make Rachel cry for sport, but that didn't mean Rachel shouldn't bear the brunt of her frustration.

Suddenly realizing she was yet to answer the blonde's question, Santana hastened to remedy that. "I'm really fine, Britt. Just have stuff on my mind."

Brittany nodded. "It's good to do that. Otherwise there'd be nothing, and you're too smart to not think things."

Santana knew that it sounded simplistic, but that kind of innocent commentary was just one of the many (many) reasons why she loved this woman.

Santana smiled at the other woman. "So are you excited about your trip to LA?" She asked.

Brittany beamed. "Am I!" And she went on to share her excitement, telling the raven-haired lawyer in front of her everything she had planned for her visit to California, where she would be helping prepare for the live tour of some teenybopper girl group Santana had honestly never heard about until they had hired Brittany to help come up with choreography for their dancers.

She is in love with this girl. Santana Lopez has her insecurities and bouts of doubt, but how she feels about Brittany Pierce is not one of them. If she is being honest with herself, she can admit that she's been in love with the dancer since the moment she first saw the blonde. There was something about Brittany, whether it was her innocent outlook or the way she could read right through Santana's tough Lima Heights Adjacent exterior, but something about the two of them just clicked.

Unfortunately, how Brittany felt about her _was_ one of the things Santana is insecure and dubious about. She knew Brittany loved her - heck, everybody in their right mind should, Santana Lopez was all levels of awesome - but sometimes she wondered if Brittany was really, truly, _in love _with her.

The problem was that Santana knew it was entirely her fault that she even had to worry about it.

She had never questioned why or how someone as beautiful a person as Brittany Pierce could love someone like her, who was practically the very opposite of the blonde, because Brittany believed in the best in people, and was capable of loving anyone.

Brittany found it easy to love everyone and everything, but held Santana above all others. She had believed in Santana and considered her special, and the feeling had been mutual.

Then Santana got careless, her ambitious need to be popular and powerful in high school clashing with the gentleness required to be with Brittany.

And sex had been power in high school.

Love was not.

Her love for Brittany had taken a backseat to the politics of high school, but she'd done her best to tread the fine line between playing the game needed to be untouchable and feared, while maintaining a... _flirtation _with Brittany. It was a game, giving the hormonal masses what they thought they wanted, while saving the best parts of herself for Brittany. But then Brittany had wanted for more, and Santana had been unable to give it.

She never foresaw Brittany finding something special with other people. She had watched helplessly while Brittany had relationships with other people, some with people she knew were just stand-ins while Santana attended to the power struggle (Mike Chang), and some with people she couldn't stand (Stubbles McCripplepants).

Santana hated Artie Abrams with the fire of a thousand suns, his covert misogyny and blatant sexist behaviour aggravated by her perception of his treatment of Brittany as a sex object. Brittany insisted he was sweet and kind, but Santana could cite specific examples of how he wasn't.

Even after Santana had taken those tiny steps Brittany wanted her to - needed her to - about recognizing and accepting who she was and Brittany's place in her life, Santana had felt that it was never _enough _for Brittany. The blonde pushed, hoping for more, continuously overestimating what Santana was capable of, and Santana retreated.

She would realize only many years later - during that first drunken Thanksgiving with Berry - that Brittany had wanted Santana to accept who she was _for herself_, not for Brittany.

There would be others between them, over the years.

When Brittany stayed in Lima an extra year because of some fluke in her grades (Santana is willing to bet that Sue Sylvester is behind it all, to keep the dancer in Cheerios) while Santana went to New York to study Pre-Law in NYU, Santana had been heartbroken over their separation, especially since at that point they had been in a very good place in their relationship, but Brittany insisted that they don't have strings attached, to give each other leeway during their separation. She had lashed out at anyone who dared comfort her (Berry) when Brittany opted to go to college in California upon her graduation, and against all good advice (Berry, again) she had thrown herself into the dating scene, throwing caution to the wind.

A year later, Brittany moved to New York to dance, dropping out of college to follow a group of dancers she'd befriended in California when they started a dance studio in the city.

That was over a decade ago.

They lived in the same City, at one point even lived together, but things never quite settled between Brittany and Santana. Santana had even once complained to Quinn and Rachel that _they_had needed a single drunken tryst to get their shit together and realize they were made for each other; she had loved Brittany for-fucking-ever and she was forever seesawing in that on-and-off place.

She knew Brittany loved her. She might have questioned it at some point, might have wondered about the intensity and its steadfastness, but she understood now.

And she was _fucked _if Stubbers got their happily-ever-after before she did.

Which was why there was a hole being burned in her pocket.

Dinner wasn't the only thing she had been saving up for.

Except Brittany wasn't cooperating: she was bubbly, and giddy - Santana was always happy to see Brittany so happy - she was, more than anything else, _friendly_. There was nothing particularly intimate about their entire evening, nothing to make it seem like more than a casual (friendly and expensive) dinner among friends.

Brittany didn't push to share the bill, which Santana was glad for, so at least it was still _kind of _a date.

After dinner, they had plans to go for a nightcap or maybe some Powerpuff Girls on DVD at Brittany's place, at the apartment the dancer was supposedly sharing with Quinn, but she knew she and Brittany would have their privacy, since Fabray was at Rachel's apartment more often than not these days (and Santana had no doubt that those two were christening up a storm over at Rachel's newly-renovated apartment).

That was the plan, at least. Although she wasn't sure if she wanted to associate her beloved Buttercup with any of the possible outcomes of tonight.

Brittany's enthused retelling of how she and her fellow dancer/choreographer got tapped for her upcoming job - at least three weeks with Brittany in LA, which meant at least three weeks of being the much-ignored co-star in the Fabray/Berry Show - was interrupted by their waiter bringing a small cake - with fucking sparkles on it, which, what the frakking fuck? It wasn't anyone's birthday - in the shape of a duck, to their table.

"We didn't order that," Santana said curtly, protesting its very presence (because she's not paying for a freaking cake she didn't order, even if it was obvious Brittany loved it), but the protest was waved off by the waiter. "It's on the house, for the lady."

Brittany beamed. "Thanks!"

Santana wasn't so sure, especially when she spotted a white card on the duck's bill. But before she could grab it, it was already in Brittany's hands.

As Brittany read whatever was in the card, Santana was startled to hear the strumming of a guitar right beside her, and found a troubadour - an honest-to-goodness _troubadour_, a girl with a guitar and harmonica - beside their table, playing a familiar melody.

Frakking _Landslide_, really?

Santana's grip on her wineglass tightened when she put the pieces together, knowing this kind of shenanigans could only occur for one reason.

_**Berry.**_

She was going to kill that hobbit. EGOT winner or not, that dwarf was asking for it.

"Here," Brittany's voice cut off Santana's murderous thoughts, and Santana tuned back in from her homicidal fantasies to see the blonde holding out a small envelope at her.

Hesitantly and very much reluctantly, the lawyer took it, and pulled out the card inside.

_Ask her. Or an acapella group will be walking out to ask her for you.  
>Good luck!<em>

_R._

It took all her control of her facial muscles not to scowl and clue Brittany on the fact that she would be very much be losing a pint-sized diva from her life soon, and turned the card over.

_P.S. May or may not be former Warblers._

Oh, hell to the no. Santana looked up at Brittany, who was telling the troubadour how much she loved Fleetwood Mac songs sung to her, and had always wondered why their friend Rachel thought_ Go Your Own Way_ was a good song to ask someone to come back to her, and why someone thought it was a good idea after someone sang that song to them.

Santana smiled, because few people got to make fun of Rachel Berry and be so innocent and unassuming about it. This girl was amazing.

Gathering her courage, Santana leaned forward, and took Brittany's hands into her own. She glanced at the guitar player. "Can we have some privacy?"

"Can't, I was given specific-" she began, but Santana cut her off.

"I'm on it." Santana growled.

Apparently that was an acceptable answer, as the girl moved aside, just a little off the side of the table, but continued her strumming.

_Songbird._

She was going to kill Brad, for telling Rachel about songs her fellow Glee Club members sang outside her presence. (She will never know what blackmail material the diva had on their former pianist.)

Santana took a deep breath, and turned back to Brittany, who looked at her with puzzlement etched in her features. "What's going on?"

Instead of answering, Santana could only stare at her, because with the sparklers still going on, making Brittany's blue eyes sparkle and shine brighter than ever, and setting off the glow on her luminous skin, Santana was rendered speechless.

She was beautiful. Easily the most beautiful person Santana knew. (And she's been able to attend a lot of A-list red carpet events in the entertainment industry, so that's saying something.)

Santana felt her heart skip a beat, before beginning to beat in double-time.

She opened her mouth to speak, but wasn't sure she really had the words to tell Brittany exactly how she felt.

But then she heard a noise behind her, and she knew she should have said something.

All I am, all I'll be  
>Everything in this world<br>All that I'll ever need  
>Is in your eyes<br>Shining at me

Santana tried to keep her wincing to a minimum when the boyband behind her started singing, closing her eyes to mute her frustration.

_Fucking Berry._

When you smile I can feel  
>All my passion unfolding<br>Your hand brushes mine  
>And a thousand sensations<p>

Santana opened her eyes to look at Brittany, who was smiling up at the group of singers, before realizing Santana had returned her attention to her, and her gaze met the brunette's.

"San?"

Santana ignored the boyband, and pulled out the velvet box from her pocket - Brittany had the habit of going through her purse for candy - and held it out. "Britt." Deep breath.

Brittany glanced over Santana's shoulder, brows knit. "Why are those Warblers asking me to marry them?"

Santana had to smile. "No, it..." She shook her head in amusement. "They're asking for me."

"They said my name."

"They did. I mean," Santana softened her gaze even more. "I love you."

"I love you too." Brittany automatically responded.

"And because I love you," Santana continued, "I want to spend the rest of my life with you."

"Of course, silly, we're-"

Santana shook her head. "Daisy, will you marry me?"

It was Brittany's turn to be rendered speechless.

Because Santana had made no secret of her disdain for childish nicknames, even those that Brittany had given them from that time they had had to babysit Santana's three young cousins, naming them after anthropomorphic ducks, Santana being the easily-angered and incomprehensible-when-in-a-rage duck.

Santana never used those nicknames. Ever.

This? This was a game changer.

Or, you know, just a really big major deal.

Santana hesitated, realizing only then that the entire dining room was watching their table, and figured that with a six-man boyband singing cheesy love songs and a troubadour serenading them, not to mention the still-going sparklers on the duck-shaped cake, they were a _spectacle_.

She was going to kill Berry.

For the first time since it had happened, she considered that maybe she should apologize to Rachel for shoving her out into the aisle when she'd won her Tony all those weeks ago.

Santana sat in trepidation, staring at Brittany, waiting for an answer.

How long was too long without a response?

Shit.

Brittany's face burst into a smile to rival the brightest of suns, the sudden shift into obvious joy interrupting Santana's descent into self-pity. "Yes. Of course yes." She practically leapt across the table to kiss Santana.

Everything else - the boyband, the troubadour, the sparklers, the duck-shaped cake, the smug waiter, the applauding dining patrons - disappeared into a haze, as Santana basked in the joy of being Brittany Pierce's fiancée.

She was too engrossed in her Brittany-induced haze to even care that the boyband and troubadour began their rendition of Rachel's most recent take-over-the-radio has-a-life-of-its-own hit, another thinly-veiled love song to Santana-knows-who.

Yeah, she was going to let Rachel live a little longer, she needed that kind of clout if she wanted a wedding to rival the proposal.

After all of this, Rachel kind of owed her.

But since she has it coming, Santana decides not to tell Rachel Brittany's answer for as long as she can hold out, and hopes Brittany can keep the diva hanging.

Her night had just stepped up to being awesome, and she knew that it was really just beginning.


End file.
